


Second Look

by The_Otter_Knight



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Assumed Relationship, Chapter Related, Could Be Canon, Dubious Consensual Kissing, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Relationships, F/M, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jealous Newt, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Brenda/Thomas, Minor Teresa/Thomas, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Originally a Oneshot, Protective Minho, Romantic Friendship, Tags Contain Spoilers, Telepathy, The Scorch Trials Spoilers, Touch Aversion, affectionate friendship, again kind of, hand holding, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Otter_Knight/pseuds/The_Otter_Knight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's happened?" Newt demands, looking between them. "Why're you two looking like you just fell in love?"<br/>The sentence was hard to say, his teeth clenching but neither seem to notice. He knew that look because Thomas used to look at him the same way.</p><p>(Eventual Newtmas and/or an Newtmaris alternate ending if you'd prefer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a faint hum of electricity above them, but otherwise no one else really dared to breath while they waited for Teresa to emerge from the bathroom, the sound of the running sink being the only other noise.

Newt spares a glance over at Thomas, who is wringing his hands and leaning forward, eyes sparking in a way that was only reserved for Teresa. Teresa ... well, Thomas was lucky to have Teresa. His throat feels dry as he admits this to himself. It was obvious by the way that they had instinctively reached for each other back in the Glade that they had meant something to each other before their memory was wiped.

He could feel the warm flush of jealousy creep through his chest, knowing that it wasn't him that Thomas was so eagerly looking forward to. Although.. Newt had seen the way that Thomas looked at him, with appraising eyes and a shy smile. There was a certain way that he looked at Newt that he didn't look at Teresa.

It was dizzying, knowing that there was something that they had that Teresa could never take. Besides, Teresa was a beauty all in herself, Newt could tell why Thomas liked her. Even so ... he wished they had more time to discuss it in length, now that they had, well,  more peace than they had back at the Glade. But maybe they discuss their relationship and maybe how it spanned past what they currently were.  _By the Creators, do I hope so._ He smiles despite himself,  knowing that even if after all was said and done, Thomas still chose Teresa - well, that would be fine, so long as he was happy. No matter if all that Newt wanted to do was pull the brunette close and snog the living daylights out of him. He'd be willing to give Thomas the world if he asked it of him.

The door opens, and Thomas instinctively takes a step forward, arms outstretched before he abruptly stops short, jaw going slack. "Who the shuck are you?"

It's a boy, around Thomas' height, with thin shoulders and a mop of dark hair, thin eyebrows and small mouth. He had olive skin and was wearing what every other boy wore the day they arrived. "Who am I? Who are  _you?"_ His eyes squint suspiciously at all of them.

"We outnumber you - we could easily get the information from you in other ways," Newt begins to explain.

The boy folds, seemingly frightened of the veiled threat. Newt feels a flash of guilt - he hadn't intended to intentionally threaten the boy, but it was entirely possible that WICKED left him there as a ploy. His name is Aris, and that's about as much as they can get out of him before Minho comes barreling in, a few straggling Gladers with him and the introductions are repeated. The interrogation is quick, and it becomes apparent that the dark eyed boy was willing to give up information.

Newt watches Thomas restlessly pace the room. "No. First we need to go find Teresa. She must be in some other room."

"Isn't one," Minho explains. Thomas rounds on him, evidently grasping at straws.

"Didn't anyone notice other rooms, a kitchen, anything?" Thomas' dark eyes light on Newt, as if looking for help. Newt is all too willing to go to his rescue - to take his side.

"Maybe there's a hidden door," Newt takes a breath. "Look, we can only do one thing at a time, we need to-"

His words are steamrolled over by Thomas, a panicky look overtaking his face, "No! We have to find her, the sign said she'd be here." He turns to the door, Newt's hands shooting out to grasp his wrist but the brunette had already fled, slamming the door behind him. They all spare a look at each other, Newt's mouth thins into a small line.

"Well, we best get the beds down so everybody can sit down, at least. Maybe Tommy'll have stopped pouting, when he comes back." Minho nods in agreement and they set to work, unbolting the top bunks and dragging them to the ground, Aris surprisingly willing to help.

They all grabbed a seat, a few spare spots dotting in between the Gladers. Newt felt a flash of guilt when he saw that nearly everybody steered clear of the new boy, giving him a wide girth. Aris was frowning, lips curling downwards as he picked at the hem of his shirt.

"Told ya, dude. Have a seat and we'll talk; we waited on your lazy shank butt. But close that shuck door, it smells worse than Gally's feet in here," Minho says, patting the mattress next to him. Newt's head snaps up, away from Aris, noticing the boy in the doorway. Thomas  had returned, looking defeated,  shoulders sagging and a frown was heavy set on his face.

Despite the fact that Teresa was missing, Newt found his mouth curling into a fond smile when Thomas dragged his feet over to the blond, ignoring Minho's invitation to sit next to him, and sits down next to Newt with a solid sound. Newt's hand immediately goes to settle along Thomas' shoulders, acting as an anchor for him. Thomas shoots him a relieved smile.

It doesn't take long to figure out the parallels of what Aris was saying - there was another Group, with the same experiment and almost the same results. Aris had interrupted part way through of Newt's rushed questions, hands raising in a placid manner. He is evidently surprised at the fact that there are two Groups. Subconsciously, Newt relaxes just a bit.

At some point, Newt's hand had lowered from Thomas' shoulders to settle between them, and he was content with just letting Thomas interlock their pinkies, the small bit of physical contact was comforting. "Wait, did they .. did they call you the trigger?" Thomas leans forward, licking his lips in a way that could distract Newt for hours on end. His face had taken on a pasty sheen, his eyes glassing over with whatever epiphany he had.

"How did..."

"Could you talk to someone else? A girl? You know ... telepathically, like in your mind," Thomas whispers. Newt stiffens when he notices the new guy's demeaner change entirely, his jaw setting firm and his eyes grasping for that last bit of hope.

Thomas' reaction was instant, his hand lashing out to grab onto Newt's, his grip like a vice, his jaw dropping and an awestruck look hitting his eyes. There's a distracted look in his eyes, but it wasn't hard to tell that he was only focusing in on Aris.

Newt's heart stutters in his chest, missing a beat painfully. He knew that look, he knew it as well as he knew the back of his hand. He remembered when Thomas had that glaze in his eyes, a burning passion that lit up his every movement, so bright with such hope and emotion that it melted you. Newt knew that look because Thomas once looked at him that way. "What's happened? Why're you looking at each other like you just fell in love?" He asks between clenched teeth, trying to school his features but it doesn't work; both Minho and Frypan shoot him an exasperated look. 

"Isn't it obvious? He's a freak, just like Thomas," Minho's lip curls, but his eyes are looking over at Newt with an openly worried expression. The lanky blond is too appalled to completely grasp the theory that Minho knew - that it was likely the whole Glade knew that the second in command and the greenie had a thing going.

But maybe not anymore.

"I'm so sorry that she's dead," Thomas says, sounding out of context,  but maybe it's a verbal response to whatever the new bloke was pushing into his head. His skin crawled, his head and chest ached and his eyes burned. How could he handle the fact that Aris was speaking into  _his_ Tommy's head? It was bad enough with Teresa.

Thomas lets go of Newt's hand and shuffles over, feet sliding across the cool floor, each sound sending another splinter of shock rippling through him. Thomas wasn't one for physical contact, but he initiates it, enveloping the olive toned boy into a hug awkwardly, an intimacy that only seems strengthened by whatever telepathic bond they shared.

Jealousy pooled in Newt's stomach like acid, and he couldn't help but be aware of how cold he was without Thomas there.

Not for the first time,  did he wish Teresa was back. She may have been a beautiful girl and thus proved whatever bond that Newt and Thomas had moot, but this .. this was not okay. Aris had swept Thomas away with just a thought - something that Newt couldn't even attempt to compete with - and Thomas just  _let it happen._ Newt could handle being second to Teresa, but not to Aris - never to him.

He had been replaced, and he didn't like it one bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt doesn't like how close Thomas and Aris are. Aris has unconventional methods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaread and approved by [MistyRayneFallsOTP](http://www.mistyraynefallsotp.tumblr.com). (:  
> The previous chapter will be updated with the betaread version.
> 
> ~~*evil laughter in the background*~~

The heat was blasting right across his face, harsh and grating. He can feel the sand grinding into his skin, his eyes burning with the wind that whipped into his face. He could feel his hair whip around his face, could feel the beginning of the heat rush beneath his skin. The bedclothes barely cloak them from the sun, but it's enough to keep from the wind from scraping across his skin. "Thank the creators you were born a guy because you'd be one ugly shank girl," he hears Minho say to Thomas, who has his bed sheet wrapped around his face like a shawl. Newt grins and agrees with Minho, even though his throat feels dry for entirely different reasons than the dry weather.

  He didn't dare comment that Thomas would look good no matter what, that the white sheet really accented his brown features, his eyes more dark and prominent than before. He doesn't dare say this and instead averts his gaze. He didn't notice Thomas looking back at him the moment his head turned. 

  There weren't enough bedsheets for everyone, so they had to pair up. This hadn't been a problem - at first. Nobody approached him about sharing, which, initially he had no problem with it. The rest of the Gladers had already headed out of the underground tunnel at this point, and started to trek across the desert, their shoes slipping into the dunes. Newt's eyes flicked across the rest of the boys, looking for Thomas, as if by instinct. He saw him, but as soon as a smile upturned his face, he noticed who Thomas was sharing his sheet with. Aris. 

  "What." The word left his lips, and he swallows, his brows furrowing. He ignores the gnawing feeling in his stomach, the uneasy quake when he sees the brunette talking with the olive-skinned boy. Their hands are brushing, shoulder bumping as they talk to each other, completely at ease. Aris has the gall to laugh, his head tipping back and his eyes closing as he full out laughed, and Newt would absolutely hate the guy if he hadn't heard his laugh, so chipper and carefree, as if he were learning to laugh for the first time. He can't deny Aris is attractive, with deep olive skin and light brown hair, with an easy face to look at and nice lips that thinned as he smiled at whatever Thomas said. He even had dimples,  the slinthead. 

  Newt averts his gaze, feeling like there's a heat inside of him that only burned brighter the moment he saw them interacting. 

  "Newt, you okay?" Minho's voice is recognizable, and he turns his head, his blond hair sweeping across his brow. The Asian isn't even looking at him, instead his hands wrapped tight around his backpack, eyes trained far ahead to the distance. The older boy could see beads of sweat dampen his brow, but he didn't seem to notice nor care. 

  "Yes," he replies, training his eyes forward again. "I am." His voice does not waver, does not falter. He can feel Minho train his eyes on him, a unreadable expression probably crossing his face. "Just forget about it, Minho." 

".. Is it the shank?" there's a deathly tone to his voice, almost disbelieving and venomous. There's such a fierce fire in his voice that the taller blond had only heard a couple times before. 

  Newt takes a breath, adjusting the shawl tighter around his face, eyes burning for reasons other than the wind. "No. Aris is fine. Better than fine, in fact. He's ... he's proof that Wicked is so full of klunk instead of brains, that we're screwed for the rest of our lives, probably." He laughs, bitterly, then coughs when he inhales a bit of sand. "He's nice enough from what I can tell. We're lucky we have at least another companion, I guess. The more the merrier, yeah?" 

"I was talking about Thomas." 

  Newt's eyes widen and he spares a glance at the Korean, whose hair seemed to defy the winds and resume it's miraculous position. His hood flew from behind his head, but at least it stayed where it was, tied around his neck and pillowing out behind him like a cape. 

"What about him?" his voice drops quieter, almost silent in the fierce roaring of the wind. 

  "He's close with Aris, doesn't that  _bother  you_?" Minho barks out, a flash of irritation crossing his face, of absolute disgust and loathing. "The shank is stealing  _your man_.  How can you   _handle  that_?" There's such a fierce jealous rage in his eyes that the blond doesn't believe for a second that this was only about Thomas and Aris being close. Minho was acting more different today than before, back before they traveled through the Flat Trans. 

  "If he prefers Aris' company, who cares? As long as he's .. as long as he's happy, Min, it doesn't matter," Newt replies, offering a shrug before he hastily grabs his strap when it slips from the motion. "I mean, they even   _look good  together_." His voice wavers then, and he coughs quickly to dispel the tension. 

  "That's the problem," Minho growls under his voice, side-eyeing the duo, who had taken to switching the pack between them. They somehow managed to do it without taking their eyes off of each other, their corners of their mouths curling up at some inside joke. Newt could feel his blood chill, and he almost expects for his breath to come out in a fog. Why, why did it feel like his heart was breaking? Like Thomas was cheating even though they weren't even dating? "Think they knew each other before the Mazes, too?" 

"Probably," the word slips past his lips. He closes his eyes, taking deep breaths. His feet go on forward, heels digging into the sand, feeling it shift beneath him, like the world was tilting beneath him, spinning wildly out of control. When did everything go wrong? He could pinpoint the exact moment he had given up, the exact heartbeat that was skipped, when his head hurt as much as his heart did. "They were probably lovers, before." Before. What a word that was - before. Everything was fine before. Everything was great, until it wasn't.

  He didn't blame Aris at all - in fact, he didn't even hate the guy. The darker haired boy had been there first, probably knew Thomas from a time before Wicked took over, before the Maze carved away at their minds and flayed their skins. It was evident in the way the backs of their hands brushed, in the way they synchronized in step, the way their eyes lit up upon each other, so tender and openly sore, as if    they shared a history that they couldn't repeat with anyone else. 

  Newt didn't realize that he was staring at them so obviously until Aris turned his dark-lashed eyes at him. The pale brunette's brows furrow, his lips parting a bit in an 'o', pale and pink. He raises two fingers in greeting, a shy smile forming on his face. The sheet that he's sharing with Thomas slips from his brow while the Glader moves forward, but then pauses, looking over his shoulder in consideration. Thomas' expression is unreadable, but it's obvious that he's confused until his gaze follows where Aris' are trained. His expression breaks into a grin, slightly crooked as he nods in greeting to Newt and Minho, who are watching avidly. Aris turns to look at Thomas, lips pursing before he mutters something, and Thomas shoves him, sending the boy sprawling before gaining his composure and swiftly kicking the brunette in the shin. Their banter is playful, almost chiding, so familiar in the way they anticipated the other's moves. 

  Newt's eyes burn as he looks away, and he's almost thankful for the distraction that is Teresa when she steps out of the darkness, her black hair a blanket of shadows that seem to contrast her pale skin. Her eyes are almost lifeless, blank and void of familiarity until they touch on Thomas, who steps forward, away from Aris' grasping touch - reaching out to stop him, Newt thinks - and approaches her, explaining that it could easily be a trap. 

  Thomas sheds the sheet, his eyes flitting to Newt for a fraction of a section before he spins on his heels, hands curling around the olive boy's neck, gentle as he stroked the flesh, pressing their foreheads together, and it is so intimate in the way they touch each other, that Newt has to avert his gaze again, feeling like his heart is stopping and he can't breathe. But then Thomas is gone, and Aris looks like a lost child, looking around at everybody with a perplexed expression, eyes wide and dark. Newt suddenly finds the sand so much more interesting to look at than Aris' openly wounded expression. 

It feels like he can breathe easier, he realizes. With Thomas gone, and away from the new boy, he feels almost relieved. 

  The Gladers and Aris all agree to sit down, sitting down on the sand because there's nothing else for them to do. Aris suddenly gets a distant look on his face, and despite everything, Newt could feel concern brush in. The dark haired boy has a dazed look in his eyes, like he's concentrating on something else. "Teresa's talking to him," Aris mumbles quietly, but loud enough for the blond to hear. Newt shifts uncomfortably, frowning over at the boy. 

"I don't .. I don't care," Newt says carefully, because it brings the awareness that he lost Thomas not only to Aris, but to Teresa as well. 

  "Why don't you care?" Aris' tone turns a bit sharp, eyes lighting up in a near offended way as he rounds on the blond, sheet tangled around his head and cowing over his forehead. "You should care. It's more concerning that _you  don't_." His voice turns sad then, cheeks flushed with emotion before he looks away, eyes distant again. "Why is he the only one that cares?" he whispers, mostly to himself. 

"What?" Newt feels his nose curl in confusion but Aris only offers a half-hearted shrug as a response, then looks over at the shed where they disappeared. "No, explain to me, Aris." When the olive boy doesn't turn around, Newt's voice raises in pitch, almost needy with how he pronounces the boy's name,  "Aris, please." 

  "There's no point," Aris responds, dazedly. "There's no point explaining because _you  don't_ listen. I don't think you understand at all." There's something almost scornful in his gaze, but it's in a sad, detached way, like he's sorry on Newt's behalf. "You should care, that's all I'm saying and - oh. Oh." His head turns back to the shed, eyes wide and mouth pulling downwards. "Tommy's coming back." 

"Don't call him that," the words slip past his lips, because it's the only thing that he could focus in on from what Aris said. 

"Why?" the boy asks, sounding weary and tired of this conversation, but that simple word sends Newt's blood aflame. 

"What do you mean  _'why'_?" he demands, feeling so fed up with the boy's vague questions and answers. He feels blindsided by whatever Aris and Thomas shared - he could compete with Teresa, possibly, but not with a boy who held an undeniable past with Thomas in the same manner as Teresa. They both held unfair advantages over Newt's head, and it irritated him so much.

  " _It's  obvious  why!_ "   _Because I'm the only one who calls him that._  "He doesn't like nicknames," is what instead spills past his lips, and Aris looks about as offended as Newt feels. Thomas was always twitchy about nicknames, always side-eyed people with a scowl when he heard them directed to him, but never at Teresa for calling him 'Tom' or at Newt for calling him 'Tommy'.

   They were in a category all of their own, the only ones with that privilege. So why couldn't he explain that to Aris? Why wasn't be willing to explain his jealousy, about the fact that he feels like he wants to punch the boy in the shuck face because of the sudden distaste for it? Calling Thomas 'Tommy' was _their  thing_. Why couldn't he just have told Aris that? 

"That's the wrong answer," Aris says, eyes wide and with those words, he turns away, leaving Newt feeling as if he should have just told Aris everything instead of biting his tongue and baiting the poor boy. 

  The rest of the group chases after Thomas, who flees from them, who runs and runs for what feels like hours, not slowing down once for them. Newt doesn't try to trip Aris, even though the idea crosses his mind. Minho is the one who reaches Thomas first, who leans face down, mouth rubbed raw from the sand and his eyes red, hair swept up and shaky gasps leaving his mouth. His eyes find Newt first, and without thinking, Newt drops to his side, instructing him to take deep breaths. Thomas leans away from the blond's touch initially, and Newt could feel bitterness bite at his mouth, but it's quick to dissolve when Thomas seems to think better and sags against the older boy's frame. "It's Teresa," he explains, barely pausing to let Minho explode about the situation. Newt's hand curls around Thomas' shoulder blade, pressing his fingers into the curve, letting his hair drape across the younger boy's face. Thomas feels like a stick, rigid and unyielding even while Newt tries to soothe him. Thomas' mouth moves quickly, trying to diffuse the situation but explain himself as well. 

  Newt is keenly aware of Aris' eyes lighting on them, and he sends the boy a competitive look. Aris doesn't seem to be paying attention to them, so Newt lets out a sigh and pulls Thomas closer. Eventually, they agree to get up and moving again, except this time, Thomas paces alongside Newt, although there's a reasonable distance between them, almost like he's wary of getting close.

  "I won't bite you know," Newt says, as a joke, bumping shoulders and watching Thomas wince away uncertainly. "Thomas, are you -" 

"Don't call me that," the brunette breaths out, shuddering and closing his eyes, stopping short. "Don't ever call me Thomas." 

  Newt smiles, a bit forcefully, wondering what went wrong between them. "Of course, Tommy. Look, sorry, I -" Thomas makes a low whining sound and then Newt stops abruptly, feet shifting through the sands as he turns, watching the younger boy with wide eyes. "Tommy?" 

  "Klunk, I'm so stupid," is the response he gets. "I'm sorry, Newt, I'm so sorry." His hands run up to his face, rubbing and scrubbing until Newt moves his hands away, letting their hands drop between them, fingers brushing but not really touching otherwise. "There's something that you should know," he says, finally, licking his lips and looking up into Newt's face, eyes searching. There's a thin lining of tears touching the bottom of his eyes, but he manages to hold it in. "I don't know how to say it, though. It's about .."  _Us, please, say us. But please smile when you say it. Kiss me when you say it. I want you to  laugh happily  as you say it._ "Teresa and Aris." Newt takes a staggering step backwards. "They ... mean a lot to me, do you understand?" he says, carefully, eyes unmoving and suddenly Newt feels so hot under that gaze - but not in a good way. 

"I understand well enough," Newt says, tone biting but Thomas relaxes all the same. 

  "Good, that's good," he looks about ready to say something else, but Minho points to someone ahead, to a near lifeless man laying on the sands. Thomas is the one who lopes forward, seemingly designated as their foreign communicative person, leaning down to hear what the person is saying. The sky is dark above, and then they're running for their lives, trying to outright lightning strikes that seem to set people on fire and strip their skin from their bones. The smell of decay is heavy, heavier than the static that runs through their hair and sets their nerves off, and Newt has perhaps never been more afraid than the moment that Thomas goes down - only to emerge up again with Minho, dragging the boy along. He sees Aris struggle, slipping into the sands and fall behinds, but Newt pulls him back in time to avoid the boy from being seriously hurt from a lightning strike. The green boy flashes him an appreciative look but he can't express his thanks when the taller boy ushers him forward. 

  They all gather in the first building they can, counting the dead and missing and praying that the others will be found shortly. Newt only breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Thomas tend to Minho, quiet whispers flitting between them, aside from Minho's groans. Newt is about to walk over towards them, when he feels light pressure on the inside of his elbow, and he stills, looking over his shoulder and through his fringe of hair. Aris has charred marks smeared across his body, but there's a friendlier glint in his eyes now when he looks at Newt, his breathing ragged and suggesting that he inhaled too much smoke and sand. The sound of rain pounding outside is enough for Newt to ask him to repeat his words, though. "I said, there's something that you should know," he says, licking his lips and taking in a deep breath before coughing, turning his head while he does so. "Something important." 

  "Okay," Newt says, shoulders sagging. "What is it?" 

Aris seems to consider it, eyes lowering when he offers the words, quietly, "Teresa kissed Thomas, back there. In the shed." His voice is quiet, stilted, as if he's worried for Newt's sake. His eyes look up to the blond's, then. "Thomas was .. thinking very loudly, about it." He lets go of Newt's hand then, wiping his palms along his pants and offering a stilted cough, wheezing a little bit afterwards. "I just thought that you should know," he murmurs. Newt swallows thickly, closing his eyes and feeling everything shift just a little bit. He almost wants to say that he's glad that it wasn't Aris - but ... all the same, he wishes that Thomas had kissed  _him_. 

  "Good ... good that," his voice fails him, so he has to repeat himself, clearing his throat. "He should be happy with her." His voice catches, becoming jagged and rough and he knows by the look that the younger gives him, that he noticed as well. Aris rubs the back of his head, scratching idly and his gaze becoming almost unfocused, but it's clear that he wants to say something. "I should have  _bloody_ expected it," he continues, tone turning venomous. "I mean, _he  cares so much_ about you two." 

  Aris focuses back on Newt, "That's .. good?" His posture relaxes, despite himself, "I care a lot about him, too." His tone grew almost softer, then, and it unsettles Newt a lot. He feels unease bubble up, feels jealousy boil in, and his expression must visibly show something because Aris quickly reaches out, taking Newt's hand and settling their palms together. For some reason, that calms him down and he takes a deep breath. "You care about him, too, don't you?" 

  "Yes." It feels like a weight lifts from his shoulders - not enough for him to talk to Tommy about it, but enough that he feels almost relieved. 

  "You want him happy, don't you?" Aris voice picks up, and his fingers clench tightly in the fabric of Newt's shirt. At Newt's nod, something relaxes in him, because he nods and smiles almost shyly. "Good, good. I want him happy, too." His hands raise up to Newt's neck, touching the red skin there and tracing light patterns there. "I know who makes him happy," he says, quietly, and Newt opens his mouth, but stops short, instead being startled by how open the younger boy's expression is. It's almost sad, but resigned, dark lashes pressing against his cheekbones, his eyes so full of unspoken emotion that the Glader almost doesn't feel the boy's hands wander from his shoulders to his cheeks. He should pull away, he realizes, because he recognized that look in those dark eyes. Thomas sometimes got that look, before he did something reckless, in response to Newt's standard mutter of 'do something before you die, idiot'. He recognized that look a lot, because he was sure that he shared the same one whenever he looked at Thomas. 

  He doesn't pull away, not even when Aris' chapped lips press to his, not when the pressure is light and barely there. He does not blink, only looking forward in jarred surprise, breathing in sharply through his nose. He does not pull away, does not push the other, either. He lets it happen, even making the mistake of opening his mouth, just a bit, and feeling the dark haired boy press his tongue to his bottom lip. He almost convinces himself it's Thomas that he's kissing, the look in their eyes were so similar - how dark and deep, and even if they didn't have the same facial structure, they were still similar. Newt let himself believe. 

  They're interrupted all too soon by Minho's timed cough, and they break apart, although for someone who just initiated a kiss, Aris looked so sad and withdrawn. "Thank you for saving me," he says, quietly, and forces a thin smile. He trots quickly over to Thomas and Minho's side, both of whom are staring, with tightly drawn jaws and hard eyes, flushes high on their cheeks but they're anything but happy for the two. Minho turns his back on them as soon as Newt joins Aris. 

  "Have any of you seen this kind of storm before?" Aris asks, pointedly ignoring how tight-lipped Thomas got at the question, whose eyes never once leave Newt's. Self conscious, he drops his fingers from his lips and frowns. 

  "No, I don't remember anything like this," Thomas responds, voice quiet and full of emotion. Newt reaches out to him, fingers brushing along his wrist, but where once he might have tolerated Newt's gentle touch, he recoils from it. "This storm doesn't make sense." He says, even though it does, because of what the Rat Man spoke of the sun flares. It is evident that he's speaking of what he had just witnessed.  _It doesn't matter,_ Newt wants to say.   _You have Teresa, you could have Aris._ There's another part of him that whispers,  _But you never wanted me, did you?_

  If there was one thing that the second in command could pride himself in, it was reading Thomas' every expression - the way he moved, the way his breathing changed, depending if he withheld a laugh or was startled, the way the corners of his eyes tightened when he smiled, the way he woke up, slowly at first, the way he licked his lips and the way he would sometimes press himself against Newt even though he knew the boy was wary of it, especially since the time he initially began to learn his memories again. 

  But the moment that Aris kissed him, something shifted between them. Thomas became guarded, and would not react to Newt's fleeting touches. Newt couldn't read the expression in his eyes, although his hunched posture suggested he was nothing short of wounded. Newt watched Thomas close his eyes, brows furrowing as he takes a deep breath. But then he opens his eyes again and acts as if everything was the same, and if Newt didn't know any better, he would have assumed so. It wasn't the case. 

  For once, Newt realized how much of a wedge was driven between them.   _What happened to us? What happened to what we could have been?_ he wants to ask, but there was no answer. He would likely never get one. For some reason, that was more heartbreaking than the prospect of losing Thomas altogether. 


End file.
